


Merry Fistmas

by PosseMagnet



Series: Bad Boys Get Spanked [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Bottom Sam, Christmas Smut, Dirty Talk, Extreme Insertion, Felching, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sadist Dean, Sibling Incest, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform, dildo, masochist sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-09 01:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10400703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PosseMagnet/pseuds/PosseMagnet
Summary: "Open your presents," Dean insists, tilting his head toward the tree."Which one first?" Sam gestures to the three that are labeled with his name in Dean's precise, all-caps handwriting."The big one," Dean points, "The other two can wait.”“What is it, Dee?” Sam says, with a subtle, teasing pout."Now, baby boy," Dean grits out.The paper parts with a purr, and the tape gives way under Sam's sure fingers. An unmarked white box waits within. Inside of the box is a dildo.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic came from one of [spectaculacularsammy's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy) readers. They proffered it as a suggestion for her to use for her Sam/reader series. She kind of waffled about using it, so I snatched it and ran. There was maniacal cackling.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Thanks to spectaculacularsammy for advising, encouraging, listening, and proofing. She's a ho, but she's my ho. Love ya, bitch. ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos feed the muse. Suggestions for kinks are welcome.

"Sammy," Dean quips, "I hope you know you look like the world’s most humongous toddler."

 

Sam is sitting on the scuffed and stained hardwood floor of their current motel. They're surrounded by walls that are a particularly atrocious, pepto bismol pink, which is tempered slightly by white trim, counters, room dividers, and sheets that so white that Dean muses you could see them from outer space. The sheets smelled so strongly of bleach it was enough to make their eyes water, but Sam still reckons you wouldn't want to go waving around a blacklight, bleach or no bleach.

 

Sam scowls up at Dean from where he's sitting on the floor next to the lone decoration in their gut-churningly ugly room. A tiny Christmas tree.

 

It's barely three feet tall, even seated, Sam is taller than the little tree. Small, but real, a live blue spruce, it’s actually a tree top that Dean had bought for a song from a tree farm down the road, it is adorned with a string of brightly colored lights, a few throwing stars and shotgun shells from the Impala's trunk and a dozen or so sample-sized liquor bottles from the liquor store in the next town, all tied to the tree with fishing line. It's a sad little tree, but it still manages to be festive to these lost boys, now men, who'd never really known a good Christmas in all their years together.

 

Sam is sitting next to the tree in blue and white plaid sleep pants, and nothing else. He's grinning wide (when he's not scowling at his brother) and shaking a large, beautifully wrapped present. His head is tilted, and he's listening with every fiber of his being, trying to guess what's making the muffled thump-thump sound from within.

 

Dean grins gleefully at his brother, teasing Sam occasionally, like he always does, but deep down happy at seeing how excited Sam is about everything.

 

"Dude," Dean chuckles, "Are you gonna open it, or is this what we're gonna do all day? Because I've got many, many better ideas." Dean is seated on the loveseat, the lone seat in the room aside from the bed, sprawled there like he owns the place, in nothing but a pair of striped boxers. Once Sam's eyes are on him, he shifts, so the younger man can see his erection, straining at the fly of his shorts.

 

Sam stares shamelessly, licking his lips slowly. His every-color fox eyes flick up to meet Dean's bright, moss-colored eyes, letting the elder Winchester read the question there.

 

Dean dips one hand down between his legs, breathing a quiet moan at the light touch, he cups his balls with a squeeze, and presses his palm hard against the underside of his cock. A flick of his thumb tugs down the elastic band of his boxers so the fat, flushed head of his dick pops out past the stretchy material. A groan rattles roughly out of Dean's chest when he squeezes his shaft through his boxers, until a fat, pearly drop of precome swells in his slit, then overflows, running down the bit of exposed shaft to soak in the band of his underwear.

 

Sam whimpers at the show and makes a move to crawl over to his brother. He freezes at a severe, commanding noise from Dean.

 

"You sit your ass right back down, baby boy," there is no room for argument in Dean's sharp, authoritative tone. His voice resonates with dominance, and has the effect of pinning Sam right back down to the warm spot on the wood floor he'd just vacated, while simultaneously pulling a groan up from Sam's throat because he knows when Dean sounds like that it means Sam was going to end up being very, very sore, and very, very happy.

 

"Open your presents," Dean insists, tilting his head toward the tree.

 

"Which one first?" Sam gestures to the three that are labeled with his name in Dean's precise, all-caps handwriting.

 

"The big one," Dean points, "The other two can wait.”

 

“What is it, Dee?” Sam says, with a subtle, teasing pout.

 

"Now, baby boy," Dean grits out.

 

The paper parts with a purr, and the tape gives way under Sam's sure fingers. An unmarked white box waits within. Inside of the box is a dildo.

 

The brothers had visited an adult toy store several weeks ago. It happened to be close to the police station, and they'd been killing time waiting for the police chief to return. They looked around for almost an hour, talking, sharing fantasies, and looking at all the toys. There were lots of things there that interested each of them, but one toy just drew Sam in.

 

It was a huge dildo.

 

A dark, gunmetal grey. Fifteen and a half inches long, not including the balls and suction cup base, it's almost longer than Sam's entire forearm and outstretched hand. He must use both hands to encircle it, the sign at the shop said nine inches in circumference. It wasn't a soft, floppy, cute mock dick. It was thick, heavy, and imposing.

 

A real gut-puncher of a fake cock.

 

In the shop, Sam waited until he thought Dean was distracted by something else and, doing his best to look as small as possible, Sam scuttled over to where the toy was displayed. He ran a thumb gently over the thick ridge of plastic that created the flared head of the cock. A curious index finger skimmed down the impressive length, his thumb and middle finger struggled impossibly to meet each other around the grandiose girth.

 

Dean didn't approach, or question Sam about it, but he noticed Sam noticing the toy. With his hunter's eyes, he saw Sam's flushed cheeks, slack jaw, panted breaths and the way his pulse fluttered in his neck. Dean knew his brother inside and out, and recognized the telltale signs of Sam's arousal.

 

So, Dean snuck out that night while Sam slept, and he bought his brother a giant cock.

 

Dean voice is hesitant when he carefully asks, "Do you like it?"

 

Sam's mouth is suddenly dry, and he swallows with an audible click. His bright eyes flick up to Dean's face and he says, "Y-yes. Yes, Dean. I like it."

 

"Open this one," Dean says, nudging one of the smaller boxes with his foot.

 

A bottle of silicone lube is in this package.

 

"The chick at the store said this silicone stuff is good for these big toys," Dean explains. His voice drops an octave, and his tone is all authority when he orders, "Take your pants off and bring me that lube, baby boy."

 

Dean's voice carries just the edge of a growl and Sam's cock, half hard since he opened the dildo, springs to full attention. He rises and sheds his sleep pants with no preamble. Lube in hand he moves to stand in front of his brother.

 

Dean takes the lube from Sam and sets it aside. "Touch yourself for me, Sammy," Dean purrs.

 

With a moan, Sam takes his cock in hand and strips a tight fist up his shaft, twisting around the head. His breath shudders out and he sways on his feet.

 

Dean watches his brother jack himself off, Sam standing close enough that the fat pearls of precome that he milks out of his cock patter onto Dean's boxer shorts and stomach.

 

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean breathes, "Are you going to take that giant cock? Are you going to let me open you up and slide you down onto that big dick? Little brother, I bet you can take the whole thing, right up to the balls. Do you think I'll be able to feel it inside of you?"

 

"Dean," Sam chokes out, clamping a hand around the base of his cock. Dean's filthy mouth had always been a weakness for him.

 

"You ready, baby boy?" Dean gives his brother a predatory grin.

 

Sam nods enthusiastically, "Yes. Please, Dean."

 

 Dean pats his muscular thigh and says, "Come over here and sit on your big brother's lap while he opens you up."

 

Sam turns and scoots back until he's propped first one knee, then the other on the couch, spread wide on the outside of Dean's splayed legs. His plush ass is pushed up into the air, and Dean squeezes Sam's firm cheeks hard before giving them both a brisk slap, causing Sam's back to arch when he pushes back into Dean.

 

The new lube feels warm when Dean drizzles it over his fingers, not cold like the cheap stuff they normally use. He marvels at how silky it feels when he rubs his fingertips together, even with his calloused and scarred fingers. He slips his finger over his brother's asshole and chuckles briefly when Sam groans at the silken slide over his sensitive skin. Dean easily feeds two fingers into Sam, grazing his prostate and making Sam jerk with a fervent curse.

 

Pumping his fingers faster and faster, Dean stops occasionally to scissor his fingers, opening Sam up so he can drizzle more lube inside of him. Before long Dean is pushing four fingers into his baby brother’s asshole. The room is silent, except for the hoarse panting of both Winchesters, and the sloppy squelch of Dean's fingers probing Sam.

 

Dean withdraws his fingers, and slips his thumbs in to pull Sam open. Relaxed and gaping, Dean can see the soft, secret shimmer of his brother’s slicked-up insides.

 

"Come on, baby boy," Dean murmurs. "Show me how wet you are."

 

Sam tenses as he bears down with Dean still holding him open, rim straining against the stretch. A hum of approval from Dean turns into a groan as he watches lube leak shiny and thick out of the decadent candy pink of Sam's pushed out guts, and seep prettily down his taint. Dean swipes his fingers through the dripping slick and strokes down Sam's cock, milking him from base to tip, until Sam's muscles are shaking with arousal.

 

Finally, Dean pulls away, with a smack to Sam's ass. "Alright, Sammy," Dean says, "Go get your Christmas present. Show your big brother how much you like it."

 

Even with Dean helping him to his feet, Sam rises with all the grace of a newborn fawn. He stands still for a moment, until some of the cobwebs in his head clear, then strides across the room on shaky legs. His narrow hips sway with a sinful looking tick-tock motion, his cock bobbing and swinging with every step. Tall, tan, and thick with muscle, Dean's younger brother would look appropriate in a renaissance painting, or a fitness magazine, but Dean thinks Sammy looks best bouncing on his cock, dick-drunk, loopy, and begging to come.

 

"Where?" Sam asks.

 

"Here," Dean points to a spot in front of him. "It'll stick to the floor. Spit on the suction cup."

 

Sam's face contorts as he works up some spit to drip into the cup at the base of the toy. He crouches and pushes the suction cup onto the floor until it sticks. He looks up at his brother through the curtain of his hair and Dean tosses the lube at him without a word. Reflexively, Sam's hand goes up and the cylindrical container slaps into his palm.

 

As he coats the toy in the slick lubricant, he finds that he's a little flustered at the size of this toy. It hadn't really hit him in the store, but now, looking at it, touching the slippery length and girth of the thing, he’s worried it won't fit. But he’s also filled with a heated determination. He wants it to fit. He wants to make it fit. He wants Dean to whisper obscenities in his ear, in his raspy, pornographic voice, while those strong, rough hands hold Sam open and push him down, until the crown of this huge cock is buried inside of him, pushing against his belly button from the inside.

 

"Dean," Sam huffs, both to tell his brother he's done with the lube and that he's ready for Dean to tell him what to do.

 

Dean stubbornly keeps his lips sealed, sweeping his hand toward his brother in a "go on" gesture.

 

So Sam lowers himself to the floor, on one knee, the other leg in front of him for balance. He reaches behind him, running his fingers over his crack, dipping several into his slick, gaping hole with a groan. Withdrawing his fingers, he takes hold of the fat head of the dildo, and guides it to his hole.

 

Even as loose as Dean has made him, the stretch is still enough that Sam breaks out in a full body sweat. A high whine trickles out of his throat, unbidden. He focuses on willing his body to relax, as he pushes the head of the toy past his stubborn muscles, and into himself.

 

Once the ridge of the fake cock head is inside Sam, it presses against his prostate. He sobs out a curse, and his dick blurts precome onto the hardwood. He works the thick head in and out several times, trying to acclimate to the girth.

 

Sam's eyes wander down to the floor in concentration, the curtain of his hair cutting him off from the outside world. Which is why he jerks in surprise when a pair of bony knees thump down on the floor in front of him.

 

Dean's strong hands lift Sam's face up, and flick the draped hair out of the way. Dean's pupils are lust-blown, his dick tenting his boxers, the front of his shorts are soaked to near transparency with the steady drool of precome from Dean's hungry cock.

 

"How does that feel, baby boy?" Dean rasps the question in a low voice that makes Sam's cock jerk.

 

"'S good, Dean," Sam breathes, "Feels so good."

 

Dean's fingers drop down to Sam's ass, tracing his stretched, hungry hole. "Open so wide, Sammy," Dean growls, "Does it hurt?"

 

Sam nods with a whimper.

 

"You fucking love it, don't you?" Dean asks, right next to Sam's ear. "Feels good being split open on a huge cock? Stretched wide?"

 

" _Shit_ , Dean," Sam sobs, "Yes."

 

Swiftly Dean moves behind him, circling his fingers over Sam's hole, down his taint, and back up again to where the rubbery toy breaches Sam's ass. His hand closes over Sam's on the toy, and works the artificial cock head in and out of his brother.

 

Delivering a nip to Sam's ear, Dean coaxes, "C'mon, little brother. I wanna see your ass swallow this whole fucking cock." Dean punctuates each word with the banjo-pluck of rubber-edged cock head over Sam's strained rim.

 

Sam is already starting to fuck himself up and down, incrementally working more and more of the dildo into his hole, so Dean relinquishes his grip on Sam's hand and backs off, slipping off his boxers, and lets Sam do his thing.

 

He doesn't move away entirely, though. He remains in his brother's orbit, close enough to touch and tease. Fingers wind through Sam's hair, pulling hard to bring his eyes up to meet Dean's. A rough thumb circles hard nipples, pinching and pulling the sensitive skin. Teeth nibble at sweet spots: ear lobes, clavicles, the back of Sam's neck, his pert, flushed nipples. A warm tongue soothes hurts left by teeth, and wriggles into new spots, drawing desperate sounds from Sam.

 

Incrementally, Sam's speed increases. More and more of the toy disappears inside of him. He moves so both of his knees are under him. His thighs, corded with muscle, glistening with sweat, tirelessly pump his body up and down.

 

Dean watches Sam with slack-jawed wonder, unable to keep his fingers from wandering back to Sam's red-rimmed asshole. "Fuck, Sammy," Dean grins, "You're almost there. Just a few more inches. Shit. So beautiful, little brother. Your greedy hole is taking all of it."

 

Dean's arm snakes around Sam's chest from behind. He doesn't try to control Sam's movements, he just grips his brother's chest and rides the wave of Sam's powerful momentum. Dean's cock rubs against Sam's taint and his heavy balls, jutting out and stroking against the base of Sam's thick cock.

 

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean cajoles, "You're almost there. Fuck, I want to see if I can feel it inside of you."

 

With a guttural curse Sam bears down and slides down the last few inches of shaft that are left. There's mere inches between him and the floor. The big, rubber ball sac of the toy is snugged right against Sam's swollen rim.

 

"Jesus, Dean," Sam gasps, "Shit. Feel so full."

 

"Mmm," Dean hums his approval as his hand strokes over the tight washboard of Sam's abs. Flattening his hand, just under the bowl of Sam's belly button, Dean presses in, toward Sam's spine, until he can feel firm curve of a fake cock head.

 

"Oh, Jesus, fuck, Sammy," Dean's hips buck against Sam, and his cock blurts fresh precome when it’s trapped against his brother’s strong back. He breathes raggedly in Sam's ear, forehead resting against the bony protuberance of his brother's spine until he can catch his breath.

 

Sam waits patiently under his brother's attention. He doesn’t raise himself up to continue fucking the toy, but he needs to move somehow, so he gently rolls his hips, still impaled on his Christmas cock. He can feel every inch inside him, opening him wide, pushing his insides up so that he isn't sure if his breathlessness is from the arousal pounding through him, or the huge toy shrinking the space he has available for breath. And Dean's hand, his hot, rough, unyielding fucking _hand_. It pins him to the floor, like a butterfly on display, grinds their filthy bodies together, slick and gritty with fluids and lube, and it creates a little seismic shock when the cock head buried somewhere in the secret pink behind his belly button thumps against his brother's palm.

 

A sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a cruse punches its way out of Dean, "Shit, Sammy, I can feel it. I can fucking feel it, right here," he says with a firmer press of his palm. He rakes his thumb back and forth to trace the shape of it through his brother's skin and muscle.

 

"God," Sam groans, "I know. I can feel you. Dean, please."

 

"What do you want, baby boy?" Dean purrs against Sam's neck.

 

Sam pulls Dean's other hand off his hip. One by one he pushes Dean's long, clever digits in toward his palm, when he's done he licks over the speed bumps of Dean's knuckles and kisses his clenched fist. Then he whispers against those clever fingers, "I want your fist, Dean."

 

"Mother _fucker_ ," Dean gasps, pulling away with a growl. His breath comes fast and heavy, and he sways on his knees, with a hand clamped around the base of his cock. After a moment, he reaches behind him to retrieve Sam’s third Christmas gift.

 

Easing his way in front of Sam, Dean plucks at the tape on one side and explains, “I was, uh, kinda _hoping_ you’d ask for that, so I thought I’d be prepared for if you did.” He almost looks embarrassed, but it’s belied by the way his cock leaks copious amounts of precome. He continues as he slowly unwraps Sam’s last gift.

 

It’s a tub of greasy lube the chick at the toy store assured him was _the_ preferred lube for fisting. As if to prove this assertion, the lube even has a picture of a big, commanding fist on the front of it. He doesn’t hand it to Sam, because his brother is slowly starting to fuck the dildo again, his hands shaking with arousal. So, Dean holds it up with a leer plastered over his stubbled face, and says, “I’m all ready for you, Sammy. Is this what you want?”

 

Sam doesn’t answer with words. He grabs Dean, pulling him in for a heated kiss. He feeds his sobs and moans to Dean, and drags his brother up and down with him as he fucks the dildo with ever increasing speed. Breaking away when their teeth start clicking together, he pulls away with a moan of affirmation.

 

“Good,” Dean says, pulling away from Sam, to sprawl again on the loveseat. “I want you to come first. Can you come on that big fucking cock Sammy?”

 

“Dee, god, Dee,” every breath is punched out of him by the rubber cock plunging into his guts. One syllable words are all that come out of Sam, “Please. Need to come. Fuck.” He’s sobbing and shiny with sweat and Dean thinks he’s never seen a more beautiful thing in his whole life.

 

Dean presses his hand, still lube-slick, against the underside of his cock where it sits heavy and twitching against his stomach. “You can come, baby boy, after you show me how much you love your Christmas present. Show me how good it feels. You can come after I do. Don’t you dare touch yourself.”

 

A high whine escapes Sam’s throat, but he bites his lip and nods. A lock of his hair falls in his eyes and he bats it away with a shaking hand, and with a low, drawn out groan, he starts fucking the entire length of the toy. His tan skin is soaked with sweat, and he shines like the sun. His muscles are fatigued, but his body has been trained to power through exhaustion since he was old enough to walk.

 

Deans legs are thrown wide and he’s stroking a tight fist over his dick, his other hand mindlessly pinches and pulls at his nipples. He hisses, then says to Sam, “Holy shit, Sammy. You’re like a fucking wet dream right now, with that cock pounding into your hungry ass. Yeah, that’s a good boy, fuck it harder… faster...” He trails off with a groan.

 

Sam gives a gut-punched grunt every time his red rimmed hole snugs down against the rubber balls at the base of the cock. He’s breathlessly begging Dean to come, to let him come, to fuck him, to fist him, to give him more, more, _more_. His cock is hard and heavy, bouncing with Sam’s movement, steadily leaking, and the head is flushed and shiny with precome.

 

Dean gives a long groan, and licks a drop of precome off his finger with a slow, exaggerated slurp. His eyes are lust blown and heavy lidded; almost neon green with arousal. It makes Sam sob and removes all the pauses from his litany of pleas. Dean drags his spit-slick finger through his slit, and down to press into the sensitive spot on the underside of his cock head. The sounds of Sam begging and the sight of the giant cock vanishing into his brother has stripped away the last tethers of his restraint. He jacks his dick a few more times, hard and fast, and comes all over his fist with a shout.

 

Sam doesn’t wait or ask for permission. He has no words left, he just pushes down one last time onto the cock, then he’s coming, bright white ribbons all over the dirty floor. Tears roll silently down his cheeks while he shakes out the last aftershocks of his orgasm. His eyes are closed when Dean pushes two salt-slick fingers into his mouth. Sam hums his approval weakly as he sucks and tongues at the fingers, lapping away at his brother’s come.

 

Once Sam’s done cleaning Dean’s fingers off, the elder Winchester helps Sam off the toy, and up from the floor. Sam’s knees pop and he rocks on weak legs as Dean helps him onto the loveseat. Dean rubs at his brother’s legs and back until the muscles have loosened up some.

 

“You okay for this?” Dean questions.

 

“Holy shit, yes,” Sam tosses the tub of lube to his brother.

 

Dean snorts, “Slut.”

 

“Shut your stupid face and get your fist in my ass,” Sam says with a long suffering eyeroll.

 

Dean dips two fingers into the thick lube and spreads it around with his thumb. Sam had already propped himself up on the loveseat with his lush ass in the air, so Dean traces his slippery fingers around Sam’s hole. It’s puffy and pink, and worked so loose and open it pushes out gently around Dean’s fingers.

 

Dean can’t stifle a groan at the way his brother feels inside. Hot, slick, and still throbbing with aftershocks. He doesn’t even have to push his fingers in, Sam’s body draws them in greedily. The thick jelly-like lube begins to soften, melting in the heat of Sam’s body.

 

Sam whines at his brother, “C’mon. Want it, Dee. Fuck me.” He bears down around Dean’s fingers and his insides ripple out, strawberry red, a blooming rose that makes Dean choke out a curse.

 

Sam gives a huff of irritation when Dean’s fingers withdraw. He returns them quickly though, a generous glob of the jelly-lube folded into his palm in the pocket made where his thumb folds over to meet the tip of his pinky finger. His pointed hand slips easily into his brother’s ass, pushing the rosette of flesh back inside of Sam, where it isn’t as beautiful, but where it belongs.

 

Dean feels gut-shot with arousal at how easily his hand sinks into Sam. His wrist and the beginning of his forearm is gone before he hits any real resistance, and even then, it’s not much. He pushes in and out a few inches at this depth while the lube in his palm melts and spreads.

 

Dean withdraws his hand again, and Sam starts to whine his brother’s name, but the hand is back fast, with a last glob of lube cupped in his palm. This time Sam’s ass squelches, nasty and wet and slick when Dean’s forearm sinks past the last bit of resistance Sam’s body has left to offer. Dean growls when Sam’s body lets go and lets him in, his forearm sinking deep into Sam.

 

Dean pulls back until Sam’s rim rests around his wrist, “Fuck, you’re ready now, Sammy. So hot and wet for your big brother.” He untucks his thumb and folds his fingers over, making the same generously-sized fist that’s knocked out an uncountable number of monsters.

 

Dean had been getting drunk since the tender age of twelve; tried an assortment of drugs during young adulthood, mostly his own odd and fumbling attempt to find out if he had a life outside of hunting, that, he suspected, Sam would understand, but Dean would never share with him. None of these compared to the high he felt watching his fist, and most of his forearm, disappear inside of his brother. Sam's guts beat around Dean, a pulsing, rhythmic reminder of the heart, the life, Dean put above all others.

 

Both Winchesters had been hard again almost as soon as Dean had tentatively slipped his fingers into his brother, and Dean was amused and aroused to notice that he could feel every twitch and pulse of Sam’s cock from deep within him. Obviously, Dean was quite accustomed to feeling Sam’s asshole clench and flutter around his cock. It was something else altogether to feel this same sensation spread over such a large area.

 

“Holy fuckin’ shit, Sammy,” Dean cursed. “You’re taking my fist so fucking good. You’re taking almost my whole forearm. So fuckin’ beautiful. I wanna fuck you so bad right now, little brother. Pull my fist out and shove my cock in and pound into you until you scream for me.”

 

Dean was in complete control of himself as his thick fist slid home inside of his brother, but the longer he punch-fucked strangled sounding sobs from Sam the wilder and more desperate he felt. The symphony of sounds that he fucked out of Sam with his fist made him want to live right here, inside the soft, warm core of his brother. Then he’d never miss a breath, or moan, or strangled cry of “Dean, Dean, yes, _Dean_.”

 

Sam was begging him now. Sweat pooled and dripped down his back, sliding prettily down the dip in his spine. His hair is soaked, and his skin is flushed; every punch into him knocks out a grunt, and every exquisite drag out a breathless _please_.

 

“You’re ready to come,” Dean pants, breaths a staccato companion to the flex and pull of his muscles. “You _need_ to come, huh, Sammy?” he teases. “Can you come on your big brother’s fist?” he purrs at Sam.

 

“God, please,” Sam pleads. “Want to, Dee. Let me. _Please_ ,” he’s begging in earnest now, nearly in tears with how desperate he is.

 

Dean turns his fist so he can strum the bumps of his knuckles across Sam’s prostate. The younger man jumps like he’s been electrocuted, and clutches at the loveseat so tightly that the fabric lets go with a loving purr.

 

Sam hiccups in a breath and cries out, “ _DEAN_ , Please! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t...” He meant to say that he couldn’t wait any longer, but he trails off with a broken wail.

 

“Okay, okay, Sammy,” Dean soothes his free hand over Sam’s quaking muscles, “I gotcha. Come now. Come for me, little brother.”

 

Sam comes with a guttural, wordless wail. His inner muscles ripple-clench Dean’s arm when his cock kicks up against his abs with a wet splat. Ribbons of come streak the grungy loveseat, and his orgasm lasts an impossibly long time, Dean milking every shudder, sputter, and spurt out of his brother.

 

Once Sam starts to whine from oversensitivity, Dean finally pulls his fist out of his brother. Dean palms his cock with the hand that’s still slick and warm from Sam, and growls, “C’mon. Open up, Sammy. Fuck. Lemme see that wrecked ass.”

  
Sam’s fingers sprawl over his cheeks and he spreads himself open weakly. Dean uses the hand that isn’t stroking his cock to shake Sam’s hands off his cheeks, pulling and instructing, “No, no. Get those fingers in there. Open wide.” He guides Sam’s fingers with his own. He hooks Sam’s elegant fingers into his red-rimmed hole, and pushes them apart, so Sam’s asshole is wide and open for Dean.

 

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean groans. “Fuuuck, that’s so hot.” Sam gives a grunt when the elder Winchester plants a hand flat on Sam’s lower back, pinning him to the ratty loveseat. Sam turns weakly, resting his cheek on the arm of the loveseat, to watch over his shoulder as Dean drags the slick head of his cock over Sam’s crack, dipping quickly, but gently into his brother’s abused hole. “Fucking Christ, baby boy,” Dean grits out. “Gonna come in that filthy fucking hole, okay?”

 

Sam nods, but Dean doesn’t see it. He can’t take his eyes off the place where Sam is holding himself wide and open for his big brother, so Sam makes a noise of affirmation.

 

It’s all Dean needs. He comes with Sam’s name rumbling out of his throat, over and over.

 

The first hot spurt of come hits Sam’s fingers. The second stripes opaline and pure onto the bright red hollow of Sam’s gorgeously filthy asshole. Sam’s insides jerk when the hot fluid splashes over the edge of his sensitive rim and he moans at the feeling, his cock jerking under him, lazily trying to harden again.

 

Patiently Sam waits while Dean jerks and curses his way through his orgasm. In fact, Sam waits so patiently that his brain starts to fog over and tiptoe its way toward sleep. His fingers relax incrementally, and Sam hardly notices when Dean gently pries them away from his ass.

 

Alertness returns with a whip crack though, when Dean’s lips, plump and perfect, seal themselves over his hole. A long groan trickles out of Sam’s throat when Dean’s clever tongue pushes into him, licking and sucking his come out of Sam, soothing and tasting the soreness that pounds away inside Sam, like a second heartbeat.

 

Soon Dean slows, drawing away from Sam’s ass to rest his sweat-slick head on his brother’s lower back. His breath ghosts across Sam’s tanned lower back when he asks, “You okay, Sammy?”

 

“’M okay,” Sam replies muzzily.

 

Massaging the back of Sam’s thigh with one hand Dean inquires, “Did it—does it hurt?”

 

Sam nods, “Yeah.”

 

“Too much?” Dean knows Sam loves pain, and can handle a lot of it, and the sharp-toothed sadist that lives inside of Dean gets off on dishing it out, but the big brother part of him is always worried he let out _too_ much of his beast.

 

“No, Dean. It was… perfect,” he gives a soft, girly sigh, that he knew would get him ragged on if Dean weren’t half asleep already.

 

Sam plucks at the shredded arm of the loveseat, “Shit,” he mumbles, “We aren’t getting the deposit back on this room.”

 

“Fuck ‘em,” Dean snorts. “It was worth it.”


End file.
